Lucky Seven
by alicenotinwonderland
Summary: Moments in the life of seven Quidditch players. Chapter 7: Harry's tribute to the Weasleys at his wedding.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

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"Are you sniffing like that just to annoy me?" Lily looked up from the Potions homework she was helping fellow head student, James Potter, with. He sniffed loudly again.

"No," he said. He rubbed at his nose with the sleeve of his robes and gave another sniff. "I can't seem to help it."

"Here" Lily handed him a handkerchief. "Use that before Madam Pince throws you out."

"Thanks," he muttered, burying his nose in the cloth. He inhaled deeply with his eyes closed, taking in the smell of roses, the aroma that was so exquisitely _Lily_. He wondered what it would be like to have that scent invade his senses when he had one hand buried in her hair, the other around her waist, pressed up against a wall, his lips on hers -

Lily looked at James with concern. "Are you feeling well? You've gone rather red."

James hid behind the handkerchief, inadvertently breathing in more of Lily's scent and blushing even more. "I'm fine," he said quickly. "It must just be too dusty in here, some fresh air in Quidditch practice should set me right."

"Are you sure you have to practice in this rain? You really do look very flushed. If you're falling ill, the weather's not going to help," Lily said.

"The match is tomorrow!" James said indignantly. "Of course we have to practice. I'm sure it's just the dust in here. Some of these books don't seem to have been used in years. Look, I'll be fine. I'll meet you in the Head's Tower later; I'll be late for practice."

She didn't look very convinced but she let him go. As she watched him walk out of the library, she couldn't help thinking of their unlikely friendship. Who would've thought that _Lily Evans_, who had made no secret of her dislike of James and had issued daily death threats for five years, would now be concerned about his health? But so much had changed over the past year. With the war raging, James and Lily had both grown up. James had become responsible and asked for a chance to be friends, to forget all that had happened between them. Lily had matured, swallowed her pride, and agreed.

Over the last year, she had come to know the Marauders better, especially James and had developed strong friendships with all of them. She had come to see the bravery, the loyalty, all their finer qualities and not just the flippant, arrogant characters she had originally thought them to be. In turn, they too had grown to like her. They had found a mutual respect and fondness for each other. But Lily had also found something more for James. Once she had really gotten to know him, she had realised that she wanted to be more than just friends. The impossible (or so she had claimed in their third year) had happened – Lily Evans had fallen for James Potter.

Now, a little over a month into their seventh year, there had been plenty of hugs, awkward moments and near kisses between them. She wondered if he was still interested in her. It seemed that way, but could she be sure? She felt she would explode if she didn't work up the courage to tell him how she felt soon. Little did she know that James also felt the same way.

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Lily sat in her room, reading over her homework before dinner. James had returned from practice half an hour ago, soaked through and sniffing even worse but he had waved away her concern insisting he was fine. She had heard a few loud sneezes coming from his room next door and was considering checking on him when a crash and loud swearing reached her ears. She jumped up and rushed out, knocking quickly on James' door.

"Doh, doh, doh! This caddod be habbedig!"

"James, are you alright?" she asked, slightly alarmed now.

The door was flung open. "Lily! I'b sick!" wailed James. Lily looked at him, trying not to laugh at the comically pathetic, despairing expression on his face. He definitely _was_ sick. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were watery. His nose was red and when she touched his forehead, he was much too warm.

"You're beginning a fever," she said, concerned now. "You need to go to the Hospital wing."

"I can't do that," he sniffed. "If I go, Madam Pobfrey will bake be stay doborrow and I can'd miss the match," he protested. "Achoo!"

"Bless you. Are you serious? Is a Quidditch match more important than your health?" she demanded.

"I'm not Sirius, I'm James." He gave her a watery grin. "Of course it is!"

She sighed. "If you can make that joke, you're obviously more ill than I thought. You have to go down, you need medicine."

"Can't you make me a potion?" He looked at Lily with big, pleading (red, watery) eyes. "I'll stay in bed and rest and do everything you say. Please, please, can't you brew me something that will get me better by tomorrow?" He grabbed her hand. "_Please_ Lily?"

Lily doubted anyone could resist that look, least of all someone who was already head over heels for the boy. "Finem" she said resignedly, trying to ignore the disappointment when he let go of her hand. "It's nearly dinnertime. I'll bring you something to eat. Change into your pyjamas or something comfortable, get in bed and pull your covers all the way up," she ordered. He nodded miserably, looking like a little child as he went off to change out of his robes.

Lily went back to her room and returned in a few minutes armed with a hot water bottle. "Here, keep yourself warm."

James studied the pink rubber object with a smile as he looked at the decorations. "Unicorns and rainbows, Evans? Really? Achoo!"

"I've had that since I was six," she said defensively. "Haven't you ever had your own hot water bottle?"

James shook his head, still looking slightly amused. "Achoo! Excuse me. Mum used to tuck herself in with me. I didn't get sick all that often. Would you like to tuck yourself in too? You'd be warmer than a rubber bottle." His eyes twinkled as he pulled back his covers and made room for her.

_Yes._ "No!" Lily stammered, blushing slightly. She was saved from replying further when James sneezed thrice, violently. "You'll get a letter," said Lily.

"From whom?" he asked, bemused.

She shrugged. "It's a Muggle superstition. 'Sneeze thrice, get a letter.'"

He looked interested but she looked at her watch. "I'll send you something to eat while I brew some Pepper Up Potion. It shouldn't take long, I'll be back within the hour."

James had barely begun wondering what other superstitions there were about colds as he sniffled and sneezed when the door to his room opened again.

"Of all days, did you have to be ill right before the first Quidditch match of the season?"

"Nice to see you too, Padfoot. I'm feeling better, thanks for asking," James grumbled as Sirius and Remus entered.

"Don't worry, Lily will have you up and about by the morning," said Remus.

"You _are_ really ill, aren't you?" Sirius asked skeptically, feeling his friend's forehead. "You're not just trying to get Evans to be your nurse?"

"Why would I fake illness before a Quidditch match? Besides, Lily already made sure I am really sick. I hate being sick," James complained.

"This should cheer you up," said Peter, entering the room. "Here's your dinner."

James eyed the food on the tray. "That is the most tasteless assortment of food I've ever seen." He tried the soup and looked mournfully at the rest of the meagre meal. "No dessert?"

"No. This is a Lily-certified meal for patients," grinned Sirius.

"Bless you," said Remus as James sneezed about five times again.

"You're sneezing a lot," said Peter.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," said James, rolling his eyes. "You know what's weird though? I haven't sneezed _twice_. It's always been one, or too many. I thought everyone sneezed only twice or thrice at the most. Achoo, achoo, ACHOOOO!"

Sirius stood up quickly. "I'm leaving before I catch a cold too."

"You're a great friend, Sirius. Thanks for being there," grumbled James.

Sirius winked. "Anytime, Prongs. We all know you'd much rather spend the evening with your beautiful nurse. Maybe you'll even get lucky tonight."

James went red. "This box of tissues has more chance of getting lucky," he snorted. "I'll – achoo – be lucky – sniff – if she even wants to be – sniff – around me – achoo – after giving me potions – achoo!"

"Sounds like it's getting worse." The Marauders turned around as Lily came in with a bag of vials. "Get out now, you three. I don't want to be nursing any more of you lot tonight."

"Have fun, Evans." Sirius winked at her as the three boys left, smirking at James who blew his nose at them in response.

Lily pulled up a chair beside James' bed as he snuggled up to his hot water bottle. "This thing is really comfortable," he sighed. He sneezed again.

" 'Sneeze once, make a wish'," Lily recited.

_I wish you'd fall in love with me. _"will it come true?"

She smiled at him. "I believe that if you wish for anything hard enough, it will come true eventually."

"I've been wishing for something for a very long time now. Six years, in fact," he said quietly.

She met his eyes. "Maybe you gave up on the way."

"Never."

She looked away, avoiding his intense gaze, her cheeks red as she rummaged around in her bag. She poured out a grey, steaming potion. "Some Pepper Up Potion should make you feel better by the morning. Drink up."

"I hate that stuff," he muttered, sitting up. Their fingers grazed as she handed him the cup and he couldn't help noticing how her fingers lingered on his for just a moment longer than necessary. He downed the potion in one go and shuddered as smoke poured out of his ears. Lily burst out laughing at the sight.

"It's not funny," he complained. "You'd look like your head was on fire if you were drinking this."

"Sorry," Lily giggled. "But wait, the worst is yet to come," she added ominously. She poured out a measure of another potion. "This will ease your throat and get rid of the fever. You should be almost perfectly fine tomorrow."

James looked at the potion and screwed up his nose in disgust. "I'm not drinking that, it looks like troll bogies." He took a cautious sniff. "And it smells worse."

"Do you want to play tomorrow or not?"

"I'm sure I'll be fine. There's no way I'm drinking that," he argued.

"No way?" Lily's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Absolutely no way," James announced firmly.

Before he knew what had happened, Lily had lunged at him. She used one arm to pin both his arms to his chest and the forced the potion down his throat with the other. He coughed at the taste, nearly spitting out half the potion.

"Why Evans," he smirked, once he recovered, "if you wanted to get _physical_, you could have just asked."

Lily looked rather stunned by her own boldness. "I wasn't – that's not – I just had to make you drink the potion!" she stuttered, flustered.

He looked slightly hopeful at this reaction. He had been hoping that she might really like him after all the moments they'd shared that last month, but now, she seemed to possibly fancy him.

"You have some potion on your face," she blurted out, her ears still red.

James reached for a tissue and rubbed at his face. "That's the most ghastly thing I've ever tasted and I've even drunk all of mum's attempts to make health drinks. It was even worse than Sirius' cooking!" he complained.

"Medicine never tastes good," Lily said and then reconsidered this. "Actually, nothing that's really good for you ever tastes good. You're rubbing in the wrong place, by the way." She picked up a tissue herself and dabbed at the corner of his lips. They both froze as her fingers brushed his cheek lightly.

"You look beautiful," he whispered suddenly.

"I think that's the potion talking. Pepper Up Potion does make you feel a little drunk," she replied, blushing.

His hand came up to rest over her fingers on his cheek. His heartbeat quickened though he didn't know if it was because he was ill or because of the spark that seemed to jump between their hands. "I think that's just me talking," he said quietly.

They were frozen in time, eyes locked, faces so close that Lily could feel his warm breath. His hand was burning on hers. Was it the fever or was he feeling the same electrifying emotions she was?

"Do you know what I wished for?" he said softly, looking deep into her eyes.

She shook her head, transfixed by his gaze.

"I –" His nose wiggled and he inhaled sharply. Lily's eyes widened and she jumped away just in time as he let out a huge sneeze. She burst into laughter again at the confused, embarrassed, annoyed and at the same time, endearing expression on James' face.

"You should take that sneeze as a compliment," she said, trying to make him feel better though she was dying to know what he'd been about to say. "Another superstition says that people who sneeze can't be idiots."

"I should have sneezed around you much earlier then! You called me an idiot so many times." He sneezed again and again and looked slightly winded at the end of the fit. "What does seven sneezes in a row mean?"

"That the potions are working. That's the weird thing about Pepper Up Potion, the more you sneeze, the faster you get better. And possibly seven sneezes might mean good luck," she grinned.

"Any more sneeze superstitions I should know about?" he asked.

Lily hesitated and then shook her head. She went to the door and put out the lamps. "Good night, James."

"Good night, Lily. Thank you for taking care of me. Achoo, achoo!" James sniffed and waited to hear his door click shut.

But instead, a curtain of hair suddenly tickled his face, a small warm hand touched his cheek, the perfume of roses invaded his nose and a pair of soft lips brushed his briefly. "'Sneeze twice for a kiss,'" Lily murmured in his ear. His eyes shot open as he felt her move away and he grabbed her hand, pulling her to him as he kissed her again slowly. The light from the hallway was enough to illuminate both their goofy grins as she quickly hurried out, her cheeks pink.

James was still smiling as he snuggled up with the hot water bottle. Being sick didn't seem so bad now.

And maybe seven sneezes were lucky after all.

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**Hope you liked it :) Please do review and let me know what you thought! **

**This story is for a-trip-to-honeydukes' Magic Number Competition on the HPFC forum. It's going to have seven chapters, each featuring a different Quidditch player. This chapter used the prompt "hot water bottle". **


	2. Chapter 2

**A big thank you to Eldar-Melda, twilightstargazer, Almost Genius, mischiefmarauderlymanaged, FreeElfDobby and lightningscarpotter for reviewing the last chapter! I'm really sorry I didn't get around to replying to your reviews, but I will definitely do my best this time. Thank you to everyone who subscribed or put this story on their favourites list as well!**

**My second Quidditch player is Angelina Johnson, Chaser. Please read and review :)**

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"Are you _sure _you want to do this?"

Fred and George looked up exasperatedly. "That's the sixth time you asked us the same thing, Angelina," said George. The twins looked half amused and half annoyed as Angelina made her way to their table in the Gryffindor common room.

"But it seems too dangerous. And inappropriately timed. It's in a bad location. You could get detention. You could be expelled. Did I mention it's too dangerous?" Angelina protested.

Fred gave her a stern look. "This prank is happening tomorrow, Angie. We're not changing or minds."

"_There's just no reasoning with these two,"_ Angelina thought. She sat down at their table and looked them in the eye. "I can't just let you two do something stupid, particularly not after I heard – "

"Eavesdropped," coughed Fred.

Angelina glared at him and continued, "After I heard you two mention Diggory's name in your whispered conversation. I've known you two long enough to tell that any whispered conversation between you two means that something's up. It's only been about a week since Diggory died. Don't you think it's a little disrespectful to be playing pranks, especially if it involves a bit of a _sensitive_ topic?"

"You don't even know _what_ we're doing," George pointed out.

"Yeah and since when did it become a crime to laugh a bit?" Fred added.

Angelina shook her head. "I'm not trying to tell you that laughter's wrong. I'm just saying Dumbledore might not find it very amusing if it's inappropriate."

"Would you stop saying that word?" Fred replied. "You make us sound cruel or terrible or something.

You sound like McGonagall," George grinned.

"Everything's not a joke, you two," Angelina tried to reason with them. "Diggory was a nice guy and not everyone's going to want to forget their grief and laugh and have fun so soon after he's passed. It may hurt the Hufflepuffs' feelings,"

"Trust me, it won't," said Fred.

"It may hurt the Slytherins. Your pranks often do," she tried.

"And you care?"

"It might hurt the Ravenclaws," Fred considered. "That brainy bunch will be miffed that they didn't think of it."

"But what if you get detention?"

"We'd have to get caught first," George chuckled with a wink.

"What if it goes wrong?"

They both looked offended. "I highly doubt that," Fred sniffed.

"Look Angelina, it's the last day of term. We want to put everyone in a fairly cheerful spirits before they go home," George explained.

"Is that the only reason you're doing this?"

The twins put on unconvincing innocent faces. "Pretty much," they said in unison.

"What if you give the visiting schools the wrong impression about Hogwarts? What if they end up feeling that we don't respect funerals or our fellow students?" Angelina said. She was running out of reasons to use to convince them that a prank and this time wasn't the best idea. "Even you wouldn't do anything to hurt Hogwarts' reputation."

"That's right and we're not. Everyone should be rather impressed by what we have planned," answered Fred. He looked at her seriously. "Angelina, you can stop trying to talk us out of this. We've had enough experience countering every reason Mum gives us about why jokes are a bad idea for a career. This conversation isn't all that different."

"Yeah, if you really want to dissuade us, you'll have to yell at us, confiscate all our things and keep eyes, ears and all your senses on us," George quipped. "And you'd have to be our mother."

"I could threaten to tell your mother," Angelina suggested.

The twins merely laughed at that. They knew Angelina would never do that.

She tried one last question. "What if Cedric's memory takes insult and comes back to haunt you?"

They stared at her. "Seriously, Angie?" Fred asked incredulously while George burst into laughter.

"I'm grasping at straws here, okay?" Angelina snapped. She sighed. "Look, is it really the best idea for me to let you two play a prank concerning Cedric Diggory, who has passed away very, _very _recently and whom you've never really liked?"

"Come on, Angelina, the poor bloke's gone. We wouldn't do anything to insult his memory. Trust us, he'd be happy if he could see what we have planned for tomorrow and it won't hurt any feelings. Just have some faith in us."

Angelina threw up her hands. "I give up. This prank's going to happen tomorrow no matter what I say, isn't it?"

"Yes," they said together, smiling at her.

Angelina sighed, got up and turned to leave. She stopped just before the girls' staircase. "Are you _completely_ sure-"

"There's no point asking us to change our minds again, Angie. You won't get seventh time lucky."

Angelina shook her head in defeat. There really was no point trying to reason with the Weasley twins.

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**So what did you think? Do review and let me know :) Constructive criticism is always welcome of course.**

**The mysterious prank will be revealed in the next chapter! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you all for reviewing or putting this story on your favourites or alerts! **

**A big thank you to the wonderful mrsremusjohnlupin for betaing this chapter! I really appreciate all the help you gave me :)**

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I never thought I'd be nervous about a prank. But this _is _no ordinary prank. This is something that, if successful, we'll apply for a patent with. It's something that could really get our joke shop on the way.

We haven't managed to get this charm to work perfectly during all the times we tested it. This time, we're trying it on a _much _larger scale than we intended it to be used for. But that's my motto, after all – if you're doing something big, give it everything you've got. You never know if you'll have a second chance. If anything goes wrong with this spell, people could really get hurt. But I insisted on doing it.

My mum once said that if George and I had the brains to be inventing all these tricks, we could apply them to our studies and get a good, well-paying, steady job at the Ministry. I told her there was more to life than just working and living comfortably; most people don't even know how to have fun.

The joke shop wasn't our first career idea, actually. When we were younger, we wanted to be joint Ministers of Magic (we don't dream small at all, do we?) As we grew up, we started seeing how unhappy people were even though they had such good jobs while all we wanted was to have fun. When Harry Potter came to Hogwarts, we saw him risk his neck when he was only eleven.

That's when I decided to find a job that would make people smile and laugh because that's what I enjoy doing the most. I want people to _live _their lives and to see how much more life is worth living when risks are taken and something unexpected is added to each day, because, let's face it; the world can really suck sometimes. You've got to make the most of each day and live it as fully as you can. Who knows if you'll be sick or broke or brokenhearted tomorrow? Anything can happen at any time and I don't want to end up having a long list of things I wish I'd done or feeling that I should have enjoyed the good days more; that I'd _lived _more. The future looks bleak as it is and if You-Know-Who is really back, it can only get worse. I want to share this idea with the world and that's why, I want to start a joke shop – to infuse at least a little colour and excitement into an ordinary person's life. I want to help people enjoy themselves, to live in the moment, to create memories. I will be helping spread this joy through a joke shop.

And I suppose, as George pointed out, us being Ministers of Magic would probably destroy any semblance of order in the Wizarding world.

Of course, this was easy enough to say in my head. Mum just understood it as us wanting to have fun and not work. No wonder she confiscated all our order forms.

These last few weeks have only strengthened my belief in living in the moment. Diggory's the perfect example of how lightning can strike anywhere. That's the whole idea behind today's prank. Seize the day, because you'll never know which might be your last.

George and I discreetly head to the two secret alcoves we found in the Great Hall. I raise my wand, praying this works properly. He winks at me and I nod back as he raises his wand too.

Exclamations of surprise fill the Hall as the chickens placed at regular intervals on the table suddenly get up and start dancing. Surprise soon turns into mirth as the students choke with laughter at the sight of the Ravenclaw table's chickens doing the can-can. The Gryffindor table is in splits at the sight of their chicken trying to tango and the Slytherins' "accidentally" kick them in the face while they break dance. With a loud bang, all of the chicken explodes like piñatas. Sweets burst out of them and students make excited grabs, laughing all the while.

Soft music plays as the torches suddenly dim. The students grow quiet immediately, their attention drawn upwards. They point and whisper as they look up at the ceiling where it appears a curtain is stretched across it. The curtain opened and everyone's faces grow somber as a picture of Cedric Diggory is revealed. More photos follow it, featuring Cedric throughout his years at Hogwarts. Every photo is of a happy scene; Cedric was smiling in each snapshot.

Well everything's working fine so far. Now comes the hard part. I wiggle my wand and begin to speak.

A voice booms through the Hall. It's loud and echoes and yet is gentle and sad. It doesn't sound anything like mine, but that's how I planned it."Cedric Diggory was someone who believed in the slogan 'Carpe Diem'. He didn't want to spend his life as just an ordinary, model student who just studied all the time or was perfect at sports. He did his best to live life to the fullest. He took risks and did not regret them though he faced many dangers. He played Quidditch in storms…" The students squeal as raindrops hit them and Dementors float around eerily. Then Cedric swoops through the clouds and all the students burst into laughter as the Dementors lift their hoods to reveal faces of many students, making ridiculous expressions.

"He faced dragons…"A large Chinese Fireball flies between the tables and breathes smoke at them. This was George's part of the spell so I glance at him. He nods back reassuringly and I concentrate on my own part.

"He faced merpeople…" The Hall looks as if it is filled with water as merpeople swim among the students squirting them with water and brandishing suddenly appears, one hand protectively around a sleeping Cho Changand all the tridents turn into various rubber animals leaving the merpeople looking bemused and the students nearly falling over with laughter.

"He faced Acromantula…" Ron and a few girls nearly make undignified sounds as they slide down the bench at the sight of a giant spider. But everyone is soon grinning as it shoots candy floss webs into the crowd.

"But even worse…"The Hall darkens and my voice changes to sound ominous. Everyone becomes uneasy as lightning flashes overhead. "He faced…Professor McGonagall's wrath!" The students go hysterical as a giant picture of McGonagall yelling at a younger Cedric stretched across the ceiling. It's been taken in his Transfiguration class where his partner's ears have somehow been replaced by antlers and his nose by a tomato. Even in the secretly taken picture, it is impossible to miss the cheeky smile that threatens to break out on Cedric's face as he pretended to look abashed while the teacher tells him off.

"He's done enough to make his life memorable and short though it was, it was _lived_." The voice continues to speak as more photos of Cedric play across the ceiling. Cedric on his first date, at the Yule Ball, during his first broom ride, him daring to pull Mrs. Norris' tail… George still doesn't know how I got all these pictures. It was quite easy, really. All I had done was send a few letters to his friends and family. I told them I was a Hogwarts Prefect and was planning a tribute to Cedric. I wasn't really lying.)"If You-Know-Who is back, we have to follow his example. Cedric could easily have gone on with his year and done well in school and gotten a good job. But he took the adventurous route and became a champion. Use him as a model. Fill your days with the unexpected. There's no worrying about what _might _happen. 'Carpe diem,' ladies and gentlemen. Be like Cedric and _seize the day_."

There is a bang. Smoke and confetti fill the Hall. The students applaud and as the smoke clears, many of them burst into laughter again at the sight of their fellow classmates. All those who had eaten the sweets from the chickens turn into giant canaries with indignant tweets and join in the laughter when they return to their original bodies.

George and I slip back to our seats, unnoticed in the commotion. I barely hear Dumbledore thanking "whoever was responsible for putting some fun into this dark week." I barely register Angelina's acknowledging nod. All I can see are happy faces, friends excitedly talking about the prank or, more importantly, about following Cedric's belief in living for the moment. _This _is what I can achieve with a simple joke shop – I can inspire people to laugh and not lose faith in all that brings delight into life and continue to want to live as well as possible for as long as they can.

George leans over. "That went surprisingly well, considering the charm failed the previous six times we tested it out. Seventh time lucky, do you think?"

"Luck? That was all Weasley skill," I reply with a smirk. The charm was successful, as were the trick sweets. The joke shop is one step closer and with it, my dream of making people smile.

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**So what did you think? Review and let me know :)**

**In my head, Fred and George must have had plans to get money for their joke shop. They could not have placed all their hopes on a bet and they couldn't have expected Harry to be their benefactor. The charm that they used in the prank was what I think they used to make those Daydream Charms we read about in the sixth book. I think they invented that spell and in the Wizarding world, patents are given out for spells and it is possible to earn money from these patents just as in the Muggle world. It's also their tribute to Cedric, because at the end of the day, he was a pretty decent fellow and the Weasley twins would have respected that.**


	4. Chapter 4

**So...I only got one review for the last chapter...That's kinda depressing. I hope you guys like this one better.**_  
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**Oh and I'm terribly sorry I couldn't get around to replying to all the people who reviewed the second chapter! Life is just a little too busy but I really,_ really _do appreciate that you all take your time to leave me a review!**

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_Thwack._

George Weasley whacked the Bludger away from him with as much force as he could muster. His brother, Bill had dropped into Muriel's with Mr. Ollivander a couple of hours ago. George had never felt as relieved as when he heard that Harry, Ron and Hermione were alive and safe. His little brother was safe! As much as he and Fred took the mickey out of Ron, he was family and they had been worried about him. His family was in a state of exuberance. Fred and Ginny were inside, planning an elaborate prank to vent their newfound energy. His Mum was cooking like never before. His Dad was fixing Auntie Muriel's old rocking chair. He had needed to get out of the house to work off his own energy.

_Thwack_.

George swung at the Bludger again. Ever since they were kids, the twins had always been energetic to the point of being hyperactive. George had been the one to find that being a Beater was an excellent way to release all that pent up liveliness. At times like these, especially, he found it to be a wonderful method of stress relief.

_Thwack._

He rolled in midair and knocked the Bludger towards the house. He had set up a boundary around the borders of the estate so that Bludger wouldn't fly off. It felt good to be out here. Flying always made him happy. He hated being stuck inside a house all the time. The house in question being Auntie Muriel's didn't help much either. He understood how Sirius must have felt. No wonder the poor bloke had leapt at the chance to get out; even though he knew he could die or get caught. It was impossible to live with the same people all the time.

_Thwack._

It must have been unbearable to live alone. Even with so many people in the house, terrible thoughts plagued him all the time. Thoughts about losing the war and people he loved filled his head; sleep had been fitful and brief all year. There was a morbid anticipation in the air all the time; an unspoken question that hung over them all like guillotine – _who's next?_ Sometimes, when these thoughts became too consuming, the only thing that kept him sane was the sight of his family around him. They were reminders that a lot of his loved ones were still alive and fighting, that he was not alone.

_Thwack._

George had been feeling useless, being cooped up inside for so long that he had toyed with the idea of sneaking out and doing something reckless. He didn't know if it would be of any help, he had just wanted to do something to prove that he still _could_. But those feelings melted away as he hit the Bludger again. There was something oddly therapeutic about striking an iron ball around. It was the least dangerous way of letting off steam.

_Thwack._

In a way, George mused, Bludgers were like the Death Eaters. Like Evil. Sometimes they came at you alone. Other times they ganged up on you. You had to roll, duck, twist and do everything you could to stay seated and not fall to their viciousness. They hit you, bruised you and often maimed you. They scarred you for life. Like evil, no matter how many times you knocked them away, they kept coming back.

_Thwack._

Bludgers were unexpected sometimes, like a bolt from the blue. They always went straight for the people you wanted to protect. After a while, you were tired out. You didn't want to fight or avoid them again. It was all up to the Seeker, really. The Beaters could fend off the Bludgers for as long as possible but it was only the Seeker who could finish the game by catching that elusive, golden glimmer of victory. There were only so many times a Beater could knock the Bludgers away. There were only so many times George could fight the evil pressing down on them before he gave up. That was what You-Know-Who wanted, of course: for all those fighting him to reach their breaking point.

George swung the bat heavily into the oncoming Bludger, putting all of his anxiety, frustration and anger behind it.

_CRACK!_

George stared at the two halves of the Bludger dropping to the ground. Even Bludgers had their breaking point. Evil _could_ be defeated, it would just take a long time hammering away at it. The war would end at the moment Harry caught his Snitch – at the moment he defeated You-Know-Who. The kid had faced but hadn't been fortunate enough to finish off the Dark wizard six times in his life so far, if you counted the rumours of what had happened at Godric's Hollow as true.

George sincerely hoped Harry would get lucky the seventh time.

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**Please do review! Your thoughts are the only way I can know if I'm doing a good job and where I can improve!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you all for your reviews last chapter! You guys are wonderful :) Thank you to everyone who put this story on their alerts or favourites too!**

**Hope you like this one!**

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Harry, Ron and Hermione stood before the double doors of the hospital wing. "It's weird being here and not visiting you," said Ron glancing at Harry.

"Madam Pomfrey was surprised to see I didn't need the hospital wing too," he replied with a small smile.

Hermione looked at both of them with concern. "Are you sure you want to do this?" Harry nodded resolutely. It had been two weeks since the final battle but he had not visited the injured so far. It had taken him time to reach a point where he didn't wake up every morning crying over Remus or Tonks or Fred but now he realised that he should have come to the hospital wing much earlier. He needed to visit the people who had been hurt fighting to buy him time. He needed to tell them that he was no stranger to pain either. But most of all, he needed to reassure himself that he hadn't lost everyone; that some were injured but were still very much alive.

He was surprised, however, that Ron had come along. It was the first time his best friend had shown any reaction other than indifference after Fred's death but he had insisted on coming. Harry was glad. He had been worried about Ron for the redhead had been out of sorts for the last two weeks; he would respond sometimes and other times he would not. He had never been as interested in anything as visiting the hospital wing of late. This seemed to be a sign that Ron was starting to heal as well.

Hermione took both their hands and they pulled open the doors. The smell of potions and antiseptic hit them as they walked between the rows of beds. The usually empty Hospital wing was packed with patients and far more than the allowed six visitors. But even so, Harry could sense that the atmosphere was upbeat and hopeful rather than the normally worried aura people in the hospital gave off.

"Harry! Hermione!"

"Hey Ron! Good to see you mate."

The trio was greeted by calls from various beds. Harry couldn't help smiling slightly. Everyone here was hurt or visiting friends who were hurt and they were still cheerful, happy that they won the war, happy to bear the pain of a few injuries. Harry and Hermione made their way to different beds, calling out to friends.

Ron stood rooted on the spot. This was overwhelming. If only Fred had been on one of these beds, Ron thought. It wouldn't matter what body parts he was missing, he would still have been alive. He would still be able to grin at Ron and pull his leg and make silly jokes. He would have –

"Oh! Sorry Ron, didn't see you there."

Ron looked down jolted out of his thoughts. He pulled Seamus, who had just bumped into him, up. "Hello Seamus, how are you?"

The sandy haired boy shrugged. "Couple of cuts and bruises, that's all. Nothing Madam Pomfrey couldn't put right. How have you been? No monster brains or spiders get you this time? I haven't seen you in here before."

"I'm…fine," Ron said uncertainly. "I haven't been anywhere but home for a while. Today…I just needed a break." _From mourning because it hurts too much to think about him._

Seamus nodded understandingly. "Sometimes, I wish I could bring Voldemort back to life just so I could kill him again and again. For everything," he said vehemently. Ron blinked. While he was relieved the war was over, he couldn't deny having felt the same way before. Seamus sighed. "Anyway, I have to go. I promised Parvati I'd visit her at St. Mungo's and let her know how Lavender's doing." He looked sadly back at the only bed that was quiet and had the curtains drawn.

"Lavender's in there? What happened? How is she doing?" Ron asked startled. He vaguely remembered seeing the girl fall from a balcony but she'd been moving so he'd assumed she only had a few broken bones.

Seamus sighed again. "She got attacked by Greyback. No permanent damage, not any that'll cause her harm anyway, but she's been badly scarred. She doesn't really want to go out into the world. As if a few scars would change how marvelous and brave she is," Seamus looked at the bed fondly, a soft look in his eyes. "As if a few scars would change how I – how any of us – feel about her. But she seems intent on living behind the curtains. I have to leave now, mate. See you around." Seamus clapped Ron on the back and left.

Even through his own pain and grief, Ron had not missed the look on Seamus' face when he talked about Lavender. He didn't know what made him do it but he walked down the row and towards the bed with the curtains firmly closed. He inched forward hesitantly, trying not to startle Lavender and promptly bumped into the bed and jostled the curtains.

"I told you to leave me alone, Seamus," a voice called out from behind the drapes. A voice full of self-pity and loneliness.

Ron cursed as he rubbed his stubbed toe and hopped on the spot. "It's not Seamus." He fumbled with the curtains nearly entangling himself in them and cleared his throat. "It's me. Er…Ron Weasley." He finally found the gap and pulled the curtains back and slipped into the little chair by the bed. His eyes widened as he caught sight of Lavender's horribly scarred face before she dived under the covers, embarrassed that he'd seen her.

Ron broke the awkward silence. "So…erm…how are you?" He cringed at the sound of that.

"How do you think?" Lavender's muffled retort came through the sheets.

Ron was desperately trying to think about things that Lavender liked to talk about. He was wishing fervently that he'd paid more attention to the times she used to prattle on when they were dating. He couldn't remember a single conversation! Wait, shopping! She liked shopping! He cleared his throat awkwardly again, hoping the girl hadn't suffocated and passed out under the covers during the long pause while he'd been thinking. "Well, er, I hope you feel better soon. You must be sick of this place, I always got bored in a couple of days here. Are you getting out any time soon? You can go shopping then, you always said it made you feel better, right?"

Lavender emerged from underneath the covers, her face furious. Ron cowered. Had he said the wrong thing? Had she said she'd hated shopping? Was it skating she'd liked? How were men supposed to remember these things, he could barely remember all his siblings' birthdays. She opened her mouth and Ron looked slightly scared of the scolding he sensed he was going to get.

"Are you here to make fun of me?" she hissed. "I can leave the hospital wing but I can never leave my house. I can never go out again, much less to shopping malls, no matter how much I want to."

Ron sighed slightly in relief. He'd got shopping right at least. Bloody hell, he'd better pay more attention to what Hermione said from now on if he didn't want to have frequent rises in his blood pressure. He was confused at Lavender's statement though. "But," he began uncertainly, "Seamus said there was no lasting damage. Why can't you go out? Is there something wrong with your legs?"

Lavender looked simply furious now. Ron was fighting an urge to laugh at her expression despite the fear that he had somehow upset her. He didn't know what had come over him. This was so much like the time they'd dated when he'd say something wrong and she'd get angry. He hoped she wouldn't start crying, he couldn't just snog her and make her forget why she'd been mad at him. He thanked Merlin Hermione was used to his insensitiveness to think too much of it.

"Ron Weasley, you are as tactless as ever!" Lavender looked like she was restraining the urge to scream at him. "Can't you see my face? Can't you see the scars? How can I go out without people staring at me all the time? I look hideous!"

Ron's mood changed suddenly from amused to angry. Here she was hale and hearty and she was refusing to go on with her life. "But you _can_ go out!" he snapped back. "You're alive and you'll be perfectly healthy in a few weeks. You can do whatever you want because you're still here. You're not _dead_."

"I'm as good as," she retorted. "I can never have a normal life again thanks to these scars. I can't go out and have fun. People will look at me pityingly, wondering what accident befell me. No one will ever tell me I look good again. I'll never get a job where people won't stare at me. No boy will ever look at me and agree to go out with me. I'll never get married or have kids, I'll never have friends because they'll be too embarrassed to go out with ugly old me and I'll have to spend most of my time indoors. I might as well be dead because I'll never be able to have a proper life!"

Ron was confused again. "Why do you feel that way, Lavender? My brother Fred _died_. _He_ can never live the rest of his life now, but you're still here. Do you know why Harry and I came to the hospital wing today? We wanted to see all the people who were injured but made it through. I wanted to see all the people who understood how lucky they are and are eager to live a full, happy life now because they still have a chance to. I wanted to see those who are just waiting to get out there and have fun because the war's over now and they can finally have the happy life they want to. But here _you_ are worried about how you look!"

Lavender looked surprised at his outburst. "I – I'm sorry about Fred," she stammered. "I didn't know. Merlin, when you say it all like that, I feel shallow and wretched; like that evil witch who cared only about how she looked in that storybook Hermione Granger had." She looked down at her hands. "There are _seven_ scars on my face. On just my _face_. My looks – they were – they were all I had. I'm not – brave – like Hermione Granger, or – or smart, like Parvati and Padma - or fierce and loyal like your sister. I was just pretty. Tell me, would you have ever considered going out with me if I hadn't looked good back in sixth year? Without even my looks now, what am I?" Tears welled up in the corner of her eyes.

"Hey, er, don't cry, please." Ron looked slightly scared. He hated being responsible for making a girl cry. He awkwardly handed her a tissue. "Uh, sorry I kind of exploded on you like that. It's been a hard two weeks. I didn't mean…" he trailed off as she sniffed and blew her nose. He shifted in the uncomfortable silence that had fallen between them.

"You know," he began hesitantly, "the reason I went out with you was partially because it made me…cool. But I really did like you at the beginning and the reason I liked you was because you were so _normal_. You weren't so smart you made me feel shy like Hermione, no offense!" he added hurriedly as she glared. "You weren't exotically beautiful like Parvati or outgoing like Hannah Abbott-"

"Is this supposed to be making me feel better?" Lavender interrupted, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

"You were like me." Ron stated simply. "You were the invisible one in a crowd of more popular, more talented people. But for those few months that we dated, _we_ were the centre of attraction, the ones that everyone was talking about."

She smiled faintly. "That did feel good, yeah."

"But all we really _were _when we were in the limelight was a pair of snogging idiots, no more than a source of gossip. We weren't special. We weren't somebodies. We wouldn't be remembered." He smiled at her. "But we _are_ Somebodies now. We're brave, loyal people who fought for our friends in the war and survived. Those scars don't make you ugly, they tell people you had the guts to take on a dangerous enemy and you had the talent to come off better in the fight too."

"But what about finding a job, or love? How can I ever be normal?"

He snorted. "Jobs will be there in plenty. Have you seen the Aurors? Battle scars are a matter of pride. Or you can join the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes or Experimental Charms. Trust me, they have far funnier and weird disfigurations than a few scars. As for finding love, look at my brother Bill, or Professor Lupin. They both got married and Remus even had a son! Maybe love's been hanging around you all the time but you just haven't noticed the signs." He felt strangely warm when he caught her eyes flicking to Seamus' face in the photo of her friends that was propped up on her bedside table. He suddenly felt good. Lavender was healing, he could tell. She was opening up to idea of a new future. It wouldn't have some things that she'd sorely miss, but it wouldn't be all bad. Maybe it was time for him to think of his own future too.

"And through it all, you'll have your friends to help out. They'll hex anyone who makes a rude comment about your face. They'll help you laugh and joke about it and get you through this. I don't think you're going to be left alone and friendless at all," Ron added.

"People will still stare." Lavender didn't sound as bothered by this fact as she had been at the beginning of their little talk. Now it sounded like she was contemplating how to minimize the staring rather than avoid it completely.

Ron shrugged. "So you'll turn more heads than a Veela. At least you can make up cool stories about how you got those scars. Kids will be in awe of you." He grinned, for the first time since the battle. "I reckon you'll be just fine. Scars will probably be a fad now, thanks to Harry. Oh and you have seven of them too. That's probably going to be everyone's lucky number from now on since Harry defeated Voldemort on their seventh meeting."

"You know what, I think there's one on my forehead that looks like a lightning bolt," she chuckled. "I was wrong; you've become way more tactful than you used to be."

"Trust me, when you spend months freezing your arse off in a tent with Ron and Hermione, you learn tact. Those two could give seminars on tact, honestly." He stood up. "I should get going now. Send me an owl when you're out. We could use your eye for style, you know. We're rebuilding the castle but McGonagall's thinking of remodeling it a bit too."

She nodded. "Thanks Ron. Thanks a lot for coming to talk to me. Good luck."

He nodded back and made to close the curtains.

"Leave them open." Lavender looked determined.

"You sure?" he asked.

She flipped her hair back with mock snootiness. "If I'm going to be modeling scars, I should start getting some practice right?"

Ron rolled his eyes at her but left the curtains open and started walking back to Harry and Hermione. He hadn't gone far before he heard all the happy cries.

"Lavender! _There _you are, I've been up and down the rows twice!"

"Hey Lav, couldn't you send me an owl? Forgotten your friends already, have you? I bet I've got more scars than you have."

"Lavender! You saved my sorry skin with that Stinging Hex. I owe you a Butterbeer at least. When are you getting out?"

Ron looked back to see Lavender looking happily overwhelmed by the horde of friends who were making their way towards her bed. She didn't look like she cared about her scars at all in that moment. "Hey Susan! It's good to see you Anthony. Oh Jason, you made it too. Hello Gladys!" Lavender looked ready to jump out of bed as she greeted all her friends.

Ron smiled. Lavender was going to have a long and happy life. It was time he started working on making his own life just as happy now.

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**So how was it? Was Ron in character? Was the plot believable? Review and let me know what you thought :)**

**For this chapter, I've used Ron as Chaser and the prompt "Hospital Wing"**


	6. Chapter 6

**Please review :)**

**Many thanks to Ralinde for betaing this. **

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"Need some help there?"

Dean looked up at the tall, dark man. "Minister! No, I can manage thanks." He turned back to the large portrait he was trying to hang back on the wall - a feat made even more annoying by the portrait's unhelpful comments. He was surprised to see Kingsley at Hogwarts. The interim minister had never found a moment's peace since the war had ended three weeks ago and had not been able to aid in the rebuilding of Hogwarts so far. If he was here, Dean reasoned, it must be something important.

Kingsley took hold of one end of the portrait, ignoring Dean's protests and helped him hang it up. "Thanks," said the younger boy. "So what brings you here, Minister? Did the press and your bodyguards finally leave you alone for a moment?"

Kingsley gave him a cheeky grin. "Not really," he said. "I sneaked out while they thought I was in the bathroom." He pulled out something from the case he had brought with him. "I also had some things to take care of here. This is for you."

Dean looked at the folder, surprised. "David Thomas?" he read out slowly, looking at the name printed neatly on the centre of the file, right above an ornate "A". "But…"

"We've been cleaning out a few old files in the Auror department to make room for all the new ones. This was in a pile of files that have been unused for about seventeen years. I believe David Thomas is your birth father." Kingsley watched Dean's face show lots of different emotions as he spoke. Anger, disappointment, confusion, fear but most of all, longing flashed across the teen's face. "The information inside is sensitive," Kingsley continued. "David Thomas was quite a well-known Auror when I had just joined the department. There are some case files in there that you should keep to yourself. I think you have a right to know exactly who your father was."

Dean picked up on the word immediately. "Was? You mean he's…"

Kingsley bowed his head. "I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean had been looking uncertainly at the file until that moment. But now, he suddenly snatched it out of Kingsley's hands. "I'll return this as soon as I can," he promised. His voice was neutral but it was obvious that he was making an effort to keep it so.

Kingsley nodded. "There are also a few personal items in two separate envelopes addressed to you and your mother. They are yours to keep."

Dean nodded back, not trusting himself to say anything. He Apparated home as soon as he could get away. His sisters, Stacy and Emily weren't home and neither was his mother. He remembered Emily gushing about a shopping day in the morning and supposed they wouldn't be home till teatime. His stepfather, John, was at work. He hurried through the empty house to his attic bedroom. Once inside, he flung the folder onto his bedside table and himself onto his bed, looking up at the slanting ceiling.

After all those years of searching in the Wizarding world, he had now finally found proof that his real father had been a wizard too. But never had Dean dreamed that he might have been an Auror. He had only been six when his mother had married John but he had grown to love the man enough to call him 'Dad'. John was one of the nicest, bravest men Dean knew. He was a lawyer and never afraid of anything or anyone. But even though Dean considered John to be his Dad, he had always wanted to know who his real father had been. When he had hit dead ends everywhere, Dean grew resentful of the man who had left him and his mother, thinking him to be a coward, someone not worthy of being his father.

Now, he had been proved wrong. His father was an _Auror_. But the more he thought about it, it had been he who had convinced himself his father had been a good-for-nothing man. His mother had always spoken of him with love and respect. She was always sad when the subject was brought up, but she always insisted that David Thomas had been a fine man. Even the first time Dean had wondered about his dad, she had made him out to be a hero…

"_Dean? Is everything alright? You haven't touched your pie and it's your favourite." Mary Hill looked across the little table at her four year old son. The boy had barely eaten anything. It was Christmas Eve and he had been unnaturally quiet and withdrawn. That wasn't normal behaviour. Something was bothering her son._

_Dean pushed around his food listlessly. He didn't seem to have heard her at all. He was staring into the distance, like he had been doing throughout the meal. Mary turned around to see what he kept looking at. The only thing in the direction of Dean's gaze was a silver framed photograph of a laughing man and herself, arm in arm, in a park. "Dean?" she said softly. She had told him that his father had left when he was younger and couldn't be with them, but not why. "Is something wrong?"_

"_In class today, the teacher wanted us to draw a picture of our families around a Christmas tree," Dean confided quietly. "She said Christmas is a time for family. Why isn't Dad with us then, Mum? Doesn't he want us as his family?"_

_Mary pushed her plate away and led her son over to the little couch in front of the fireplace. "I'm sure he wants to be here, but I don't think he can."_

"_Why not? Doesn't he remember our address? Can't you write him a letter and ask him to come? It's not fair that all my friends get to talk about all the things they got for Christmas from their dads and I can't. He doesn't care about us at all if he doesn't want to come back. If he really loved us, then he wouldn't have left at all," Dean sulked._

_His mother put his arms around him. "Whatever his reasons for leaving, not loving us is not one of them." She smiled fondly at him. "Before you were born and it was just the two of us, he would bring me a rose every day, no matter what season it was. He would give me little trinkets whenever he had to go away because of his work – to remember him by, he used to say. He hated leaving even if it was for a short while. When you were born, he didn't go to work for a month. He loved us, Dean. He loved us so very, very much."_

_She sniffed a little but continued steadily. "The day he left and never came back, I found him in your nursery at four in the morning. He was just sitting there, staring at you as though he was memorizing you. That was the first time he told me he didn't know how long he'd be gone. He was reluctant to go. He dawdled at the door for as long as he could. When he finally did leave, he looked like he felt exactly like you do when I tell you to put away your crayons and help me with something - he really didn't want to do it. No, Dean, don't ever think David didn't love us. The way he looked at us was kind of the way you look at your teddy bear. Would you ever leave behind your teddy bear?"_

"_No, I love my teddy. But why did he go then if he didn't want to? He could have stayed here with us. He could have found a new job that didn't need him to go out so much," Dean said very quietly, fascinated by his mother's story._

_She smiled slightly. "You always _do_ put away what you're doing when I call because you know you need to come and help me. Your father also went because he knew his work needed him. You understand that don't you? He would never tell me what his work involved. He insisted that the lesser we knew, the safer we'd be. He was always vague and secretive. Sometimes he'd come back with injuries or new scars." She looked at her son with a chuckle. "I always thought he worked for some secret department of security. Maybe he was a special agent, or a detective! He hinted that he protected people in some way. I think he really was a secret agent who works for the Queen herself! Maybe that's why he couldn't come back. It would put us in danger and his superiors wouldn't want him to be involved with anyone. Just imagine that, Dean. Your dad might be a hero! He might be in the papers every day and we don't know it. You know, he promised me that he would try his best to come back someday. Heroes don't break their promises, do they? "_

From what his mother had told him about his dad's work, it seemed perfectly plausible that his Dad had been an Auror. It made sense, now that Dean thought about it. His father had left when he was a year old. He was a year older than Harry. The time that he'd left would be just about the time Harry was born. That would mean Voldemort had been at the height of his powers.

But Dean was torn about opening the folder. On one hand, he wanted to know who his real father was. What kind of man had he been? What Hogwarts house had he been in? What was his favourite flavour of Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans? Did he collect Chocolate Frog cards too? Had he been Head Boy? Would he have been the perfect dad Dean had always wanted? If he was, how could Dean ever live with the knowledge of the life and childhood he could have had with his real father? But on the other hand, he didn't want to open that folder. What if his father had been a corrupt Auror? What if he had betrayed the Ministry? What if he had married someone else and never loved him and his mother? What if he wasn't the man Dean wanted him to be? What would he do then? How could he ever live with the knowledge that his father was a terrible person?

Dean looked around his bedroom, still undecided about how he felt about his father with all the new information he'd gained. He hadn't even opened the folder yet and he already felt conflicted. His eyes fell on the pile of boxes stacked against one wall of the attic. He walked over to them, found a box that was about the length of a notebook and brought it back to his bed. He blew the dust off it and opened it. Inside were all the trinkets his mother had got from David Thomas and a few of his own early drawings. They were reminders, his mother said once, that David had really existed and hadn't just been a good dream.

Dean suddenly felt a rush of anger towards his biological father. Even if he was an Auror, he should have put his family first. Dean had spent his whole childhood believing that someday, he'd find his father. There was so much he had wanted to do with him. He had missed out on all those experiences a father and son should share. A few words in a folder wouldn't change the fact that he had _not_ been there when Dean had needed him. He had not been there to watch his son grow up.

Dean looked at one of the sheets of paper in the box. It was filled with crude drawings of men in different uniforms. There was a fireman, a policeman, a doctor, even someone in a cape! They had been Dean's first impressions of what his father might be. They were his ideas of heroes. He remembered the day he'd drawn those pictures. It had been the same day he'd met the man who would become his stepfather.

"_That's a lovely picture. You draw really well." _

_Dean looked up at the tall man with the kind brown eyes. "Thanks," he said and turned back to his drawing. In his mind, he was making up adventures, each starring his father as the hero. _

_The man looked at the picture for a while. "Can you teach me how to draw? I'm rubbish at it." _

_Dean shrugged and handed the man a pencil. "You draw a circle for the face and boxes for the body," he explained. "The arms are thinner boxes. The hands are tricky, try these first." He watched the man draw carefully, his tongue between his teeth. _

_Soon, the man had finished and he held out his drawing proudly to Dean. "What do you think?" _

_Dean burst into laughter. "I'm only five and I can draw better than you! You shouldn't make those boxes so big; his arms look like his body."_

_The man examined his picture. He compared it with Dean's and sighed. "I told you I'm hopeless at it. Ah well, it was worth a try. I'm John Rivers by the way."_

"_I'm Dean." The five-year-old boy smiled at John. "Maybe you can just help me colour my pictures," he said generously. Over the course of the next hour, Dean and John coloured lots of pictures of Dean's imagined father and talked. Dean found it easy to talk to this man. He knew exactly who John was and had an idea of what he meant to his mother. Almost at the end of the hour, Dean asked John a question. "What do you do for work?"_

"_I'm a lawyer," John replied. At Dean's curious look, he explained quickly. "You've drawn a judge there, right? Do you know what he does?"_

"_He tells people who's right and who's wrong and punishes the ones who are wrong," Dean answered promptly._

"_That's right," said John. "Now the judge needs someone to prove to him which of the people who are arguing is right. That's what I do. I help people, especially the ones who are weak, prove that they are right. I help them get what rewards really belong to them and I help the judge find out who the bad guy is."_

_Dean's mouth was open in awe. "So you're a hero too! You help the weak people."_

_John laughed. "I don't know about being a hero," he admitted. "Although that's what my little daughter Stacy says I am too."_

_Dean looked at him with a very calculating expression. "Mr. Rivers, are you going to be my dad?"_

_John looked him right back in the eye. "Would you like me to be? Would you like having to share your your things with me and Stacy who will be your sister if I become your dad?"_

_Dean thought for a moment. "Will I have to share my mum too?"_

"_I'm afraid so."_

"_Then, no," Dean replied shaking his head vehemently. _

The memory calmed Dean down. Although he hadn't liked the idea of having a new father at first, he had warmed to John slowly. Eventually, John had become the paternal figure Dean had , he hadn't been able do many things with his real father, but that didn't mean he had missed out on childhood experiences. John had taught him how to ride his first bike. He had taught him to roller skate. He had bought him his first paint set and framed the picture Dean had painted as a wedding present. John had read Dean stories when he was sick and he had brought two wonderful sisters into his life. He had taken him to his first football game and watched endless matches on the television with him. He had helped with his homework and attended every "Career Day" at his school. He had taught Dean how to drive and defend himself and always encouraged his talent for art. John had even helped Dean with his crush on Parvati Patil! He had accepted his magic and had never loved him any less than his own daughters.

Dean knew that had his own father been alive, his childhood would have been drastically different. He would have learnt how to fly instead of riding a bike. He would have gone to Quidditch matches. He would have Flutterby bushes in the front yard instead of poppies. His drawings would have moved because of magical paint and he and his father would have laughed about all the funny stories they would have to make up for Career Day in school. Things would have been so different.

But what was most important to Dean was that he had got to spend his childhood with a Dad, a Dad who was a hero, just like his mother had wanted him to have. A Dad that Dean could still enjoy having if his father wasn't what he expected and a Dad that Dean would still appreciate for having done as much as his real father might have done if the folder revealed that David really had been a good man. What more could Dean really ask for? He knew that no matter what the folder said, he would always be assured of having someone who loved him a lot. He would still have a Dad, whether he liked the one who was biologically related to him or not.

With this in mind, Dean reached for the folder. David Thomas had been ambushed by Death Eaters whilst trying to save a Muggleborn from being harassed and had been killed in the ensuing battle. Dean blinked back his tears. Whatever he thought about John, he was still sad that he had never got the chance to know David Thomas. He flipped through the pages. He read about all the successful missions his father had carried out and all the glowing praise on the reports written by his superiors. By the end of the folder, Dean knew that his mother was right. His father had been extremely loyal and loving. He had been a hero.

The last page had two envelopes attached to it. Dean left the one addressed to his mother unopened and slit open his own. Out fell a letter, some sheets of parchment and a silver necklace with a pendant in the shape of the number seven. He unfolded the letter, his hands were shaking slightly. This was real proof that his father had known him and had loved him enough to leave him a letter. He began to read.

_My little Dean,_

_If you are reading this, you will no longer be as little as I remember. You were barely eight months old when I had to leave you. I was always surprised whenever I saw you. How could such a small bundle bring me such infinite joy? Unfortunately, if you are reading this, it also means we never got to know each other._

_If you have any of your mother's spirit, I know that you must resent me. You may even hate me for leaving. I am unhappy that I had to go, but I do not regret it. It has kept you safe for all these years and that is really all that matters to me. I hope that what I tell you now will not make sense. I hope that the only place you encounter the words "Muggle haters" or "Death Eaters" is in your History textbooks. But I have a feeling that isn't so. Voldemort was at the peak of his strength when you were born. It would take someone exceptional to bring him down._

_I have this feeling today that I will not see you again. Call it a sixth sense, but it's an unusual sense of foreboding. The Death Eaters have been pressuring me to join their ranks and I have been refusing. They don't like that. I know that if the war doesn't end soon, they will hunt me down. If that is to happen, I do not want to leave you without you ever having known me. That's why I'm writing this letter. Perhaps you will understand me a little through this. Let me tell you a little about myself. I love to paint and draw. I used to play Chaser for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. I nearly got trampled by a Hippogriff once. I love sugar quills. The Wimbourne Wasps are my favourite Quidditch team. I dyed Professor Dumbledore's hair blue once by accident. I used to doodle all over my History of Magic text book. My favourite subject was Ancient Runes. I wanted to be an explorer when I was younger. I became an Auror because I wanted to help people. I'm Muggleborn myself and I couldn't stand by and watch others being oppressed. _

_What are you like, Dean? Do you draw as well? I wish I could have been there to teach you Quidditch. I wish I could have been there to patch you up when you fell. I wish I could have heard about all the pranks you played on your teachers. I wish I could have been there to reassure you about your first day at Hogwarts and take you shopping for a wand. I wish I could have been there to watch your first bit of magic. I wish I could have watched you grow up and have you look up to me as your hero. I wish, I wish, I wish… _

_There is a saying, 'Be careful what you wish for, it might come true.' If that is the case, I'm glad none of these wishes came true. Because if they had, then I would have stayed at home with you. If I did that, I am sure the Death Eaters would have found me and we would all have been killed. If leaving you and never getting the chance to watch you grow up was the sacrifice I had to make to keep you both safe, it's a small one indeed._

_Wars don't end because the more powerful side wins. Wars are won by the side that makes the most sacrifices. I hope that it is over before you ever have a chance to know what war is like. I hope that you never have to give up all the things I did and get to live a long, full, happy life._

_That's all I ever want you to have – happiness. To help you with that, I've enclosed a little gift. I met your mother on the seventh of July and you were born on the seventh of October two years later. Those were the two luckiest days of my life. My father gave me this pendant with the number seven on the day I got my Hogwarts letter. He believed that seven is a magical, lucky number. I can't argue with him. Since you're reading this, I guess I wasn't around to give you this on your own first day but I still want you to have this pendant in the hope that it will be lucky for you as well. Am I giving up my luck by taking it off today and putting it in this envelope? Maybe, but if it will ensure your happiness, I don't mind. It's just another little sacrifice I have to make. It's just another step closer to winning the war. It's just another step towards ensuring the free, peaceful life all us Aurors want for our children._

_Also, during the time I knew you and your mother, I made a few sketches of us. I hope you like them and that they will always remind you of the father you never knew. If you're reading this and I never got the chance to say this to you in person, there's no reason you shouldn't read this written in my own writing. I'm sure that whatever you're doing in your life right now, you would have made me proud. I'm sorry you don't remember me, but you may be certain that I will always love you and your mother. Forever._

_Love always,_

_Dad._

Dean brushed away his tears as he grabbed the sheets of parchment he'd set aside earlier. Each one was a beautifully preserved sketch. Some were coloured, others were mere pencil sketches. They depicted Dean as a baby. In some of them, his dad had drawn himself in too. They were memories that Dean didn't remember but had always wanted to have because they were memories of his real dad. The last few sketches were drawings of what Dean realised now that his father had wanted as much as he had. They were pictures of what David had imagined an older Dean would be like. There was a sketch of David trying to teach Dean how to play Quidditch, another of them in Diagon Alley – scenes that had never happened except in their minds but that they had both wished for.

Dean put away the drawings, slowly accepting that though he would never know his dad, he had been the wonderful person his mother had always described him to be. He also still had John whom he considered to be his father. He picked up the pendant. He would need a little bit of luck for his NEWTs and for his Auror exams. He had been undecided as to what he would do for a job but now he knew he wanted to be an Auror.

After all, with not one, but _two_ Dads being heroes, how could he be anything less?

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**I hope you liked it :) Please review! This chapter uses Dean Thomas, Chaser, with the prompt childhood. EDIT : Dean's father is David Thomas. There was a mistake in an earlier version of this chapter where I had given him the surname Rivers but I've changed that now and I hope I've got them all. His stepfather is called John Rivers. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! This chapter's not really one of my best, but I'd love to hear what you think of it. Do review and let me know! This is Harry's speech at his wedding reception.**

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Harry stood up and looked around the packed room rather nervously. He was glad that, for once, the people staring at him were friends and family; but he still had to give a speech and he was anxious about what to say. Everyone looked at him expectantly. As the groom, he knew he should just thank everyone for turning up and the Weasley family for accepting him as a son-in-law but that just seemed too impersonal. He wished he'd listened to Hermione and written out a speech beforehand. He took a deep breath in an effort to pull himself together. He shouldn't have to be scared of looking stupid in front of these people. They were practically family! He suddenly smiled; he knew exactly what to say.

"I've always been a Seeker," Harry began. "Once, I had a little conversation with two amazing people who are no longer with us. They were there when I was born and were among the first people to hold me. You all know them – Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. Well, Sirius told me I was an ugly, scrawny little thing –"

"That's not changed, mate!" Ron called to general laughter.

"Thanks, Ron, that really helps my self-esteem," Harry waved back. "Anyway, the first thing Sirius told my dad was that I'd need lots of feeding up if I was to be a great Chaser like him. But then, apparently, I opened my eyes, pushed my little fist out through the blankets and waved it around looking for my dad. Remus smiled and told Sirius that he didn't think I'd be a Chaser. I was a born Seeker. How right he was.

"I'd always wanted a proper family and that was taken away from me early in life. The first time I got on the train to Hogwarts, I met Ron. I think one of the first things I told him was that I'd always wanted three wizard brothers. When the food trolley came around I shared everything I bought with him."

"You bought almost the whole trolley," George interrupted with a grin.

"I needed feeding up, remember?" Harry countered with a wink. "The thing is, I wanted to share things just because I finally had someone to share with. When Christmas came around, I wasn't happy because I got presents, I was happy because I had someone who wanted to send me presents. I was happy because someone sent me presents that they usually reserved for their family. I still have all those jumpers, Mrs. Weasley."

"Why Harry, I never did send you any jumpers or Christmas presents," said Angelina with an innocent look. "Neither did I," added Fleur. "I don't think I did either," said Audrey, joining in the fun. Molly was dabbing at her eyes but she chuckled along with everyone else.

Harry grinned. "I suppose there are many Mrs. Weasleys now. In third year, I met Remus and Sirius. You can't imagine how happy I was when I found out who they really were. I had actually found people who were almost family to me. I remember Sirius always being the adult I wanted to ask for help. It was like I could see something of my parents through them. In my fourth year, after the third task, Mrs. Weasley – sorry, _Molly_ – hugged me like I was her own son. Just before my fifth year at Hogwarts, she actually said that I was as good as her own son. Even when her Boggart turned into corpses of her children, I was among them.

"Why am I giving you a brief account of my whole life and how is it connected to me being a Seeker? You see, Seekers search for things and what I've been looking for was a family. What I'm trying to say by relating all those little incidents from my life is that I've always been looking for people who would treat me as a brother or as a son and I've found such people too. More than anyone else, however, the Weasleys have always treated me as one of their own. To them, I haven't been Ron's best friend or Ginny's boyfriend. I've practically been Harry Weasley. And today, I've officially found what I've been Seeking for so long.

"The Weasleys have done so much for me over the years. They think they should be repaying me for saving most of their family members when really; I should be repaying them for all the love and kindness they've shown me."

Harry looked around affectionately at the nine redheads he was so fond of. "Let me tell you, they're not easy to live with. Percy spouts rules at you all the time, Charlie always wants to be outdoors, Bill…well, Bill's the coolest of them all, really, so no complaints there."

Bill raised his arms in mock triumph as the room burst into applause and laughter.

Harry continued. "Fred and George were hard enough to deal with together. Now, George seems to be channeling Fred's spirit too; he's being twice as mischievous. Just today, he's been running around asking people which ear he should be wearing. I've seen loads of choices – everything from elephant ears to mouse ears. Apparently, he's got to look his best for his baby sister's wedding."

George stood up and wiggled the fake pointy ear he had stuck on to much laughter.

"He's even been popping out of random corners wearing a Voldemort mask," Harry went on. "Ron's been issuing all sorts of threats to me all day in case I get cold feet. The Weasleys are some of the craziest people you could be related to. But you know what, it doesn't matter. No family's easy to live with. People say you can't choose your family but I'm glad that the Weasleys chose me. And the icing on the cake is that from today, I get to officially be related to these amazing people now by marrying the most perfect woman in the universe." He smiled at Ginny. "So, I just want to say thank you to all the Weasleys for taking me in."

Harry sat down as the room erupted into cheers and applause. Many people had often pitied him for being an orphan. They thought he had the worst luck in the world. He had lost his parents, many of his friends, he'd been forced to fight Voldemort…yes, Harry had had a lot of bad luck before. But as he looked around at his new family, as he looked at his new wife smiling at him as she squeezed his hand, Harry couldn't help feeling he was the luckiest man in the world.

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**Like I said, not one of my best chapters. I hope it at least made sense to everyone...Do review :)**

**This is the last chapter for this story. I've used Harry as Seeker and the prompt "icing on the cake" for a-trip-to-honeydukes' Magic Number Competition.**


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